


if and when you do

by thingsyoumissed (orphan_account)



Category: Panic At The Disco
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-01
Updated: 2008-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-30 04:06:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/327547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/thingsyoumissed





	if and when you do

**start here, with one**

 

 _Once upon a time,_ Spencer thinks, _you were a little bit famous._

*

He hasn't seen Brendon in the flesh in six weeks, Jon in three months, Ryan in five. It would be funny, almost, if Ryan hadn't been the person Spencer had seen the most often for what felt like almost all of his life. Instead, it just makes his head hurt. And he'd call one of them, but right now he still wants to be alone, so he leaves his phone in the bedroom and curls up on the couch with the latest _Modern Drummer Festival_ DVD and watches the performances until his blood is humming and his hands itch.

When he looks at his phone again, later that night, there's a missed call from Jon but no voicemail.

 

**go back: zero**

 

"Remind me how this ends," Jon says, when the crowds start to dwindle.

Spencer looks out at the half-full club. The audience is smaller than the last city, which had been smaller than the city before it. "Badly," he says, and there's no rimshot for that one.

They play hard that night, and at one point Spencer would swear that Brendon is near tears. In the dressing room afterwards, Ryan says, "Maybe this is our last tour," and they all trade glances in the mirror, hands busy loosening ties and unbuttoning vests, and then look away, finally afraid to admit what they've known for months.

*

Jon goes first, back to Chicago and Cassie and their cats, back to a photography gig, just like Spencer always figured he would. It's weird at the airport, saying goodbye at the check-in counter, the four of them standing there awkwardly and unsure what exactly to say. Brendon breaks first, nearly flings himself at Jon and hugs him tight. Jon ruffles his hair and murmurs something against Brendon's ear that Spencer can't hear. Brendon nods, squeezes him again, then steps back. Spencer can see his face slide back into a more composed expression, but not before catching a glimpse of the pain that's drawn tight lines around his mouth and eyes.

Ryan's next, and he tries to shake Jon's hand like an idiot, except Jon just kind of punches him in the arm and then pulls him into a hug. "Dudes, you can come and visit," he says, and that is loud enough for Spencer to hear. "I know there's snow and ice and shit, but you won't have to _drive_ in it, I promise," he says, and that seems to be good enough for Ryan, since he kind of laughs and nods, but the laugh sounds to Spencer more like he's trying not to sniffle.

Jon looks at him. Spencer drops his head and his hair falls into his eyes, and Jon reaches out to shove it back out of the way and then Spencer's wrapped in his arms and, jesus christ, that better not be Ryan coughing in the background like he and Jon are having some kind of _moment_ or something. "Spence," Jon whispers in his ear, "just give it time, okay?"

Spencer nods. When it comes right down to it, they have all the time in the world.

But he's trying not to think about it.

*

"What was I supposed to say?" he asks Haley as they sit on his floor with pizza. "Sorry I never said anything before now, but you should probably know that I'm a little bit in love with you?" He rolls his eyes. "Please."

"You could maybe have given him some sort of _hint_ ," she replies, in that doubtful voice of hers.

Spencer leans his head back against the couch and is struck by a wave of regret that things hadn't worked out between them. "You know, I'm sorry for what happened between us," he says quietly.

She hits his knee with her half-empty bottle of beer. "Would you quit apologizing? It's been almost a year. It's not like we stopped being _friends_." And they hadn't, not even during the awkward breakup period, when they'd slowly stopped talking over the course of two months and Spencer had woken up one morning and figured out that he probably no longer had a girlfriend. _I think we've stopped being an "us"_ , he'd texted her, and she'd written back, _yeah me too_ and that was that. She had a boyfriend now, a fairly cool guy who had no issues with his girlfriend hanging out with her ex. Spencer figured she was happier with someone who'd never had his face on the cover of _Rolling Stone_.

"I don't think I could have said anything to Jon anyway," he tells her now. "I mean, he went home to Cassie."

Haley gives him a look, the one that expresses clearly how much of an idiot he is. "Sometimes you see more than you should, Spence," she murmurs, "but sometimes you don't see _what_ you should. Now get me another beer, okay? I'm totally crashing on your couch tonight, I already told Rob I was spending the night here."

He knows she's changing the subject, and he's kind of glad for it. "And Rob said..."

"Rob said, 'as long as you're not getting smashed and then driving home, sweetie' and then something about how he was pretty sure you wouldn't try to, you know, _molest_ me in my sleep." She grins up at him. Spencer shakes his head and goes to get them both something stronger than beer.

*

 _Don't forget about me_ , he texts to Jon the next day, hungover and wanting nothing more than to stay curled up in bed.

It's two minutes before his phone chirps with a reply. _Wouldn't dream of it :-) :-) miss you!_

 

**now skip ahead to three (you don't need two)**

 

"I still talk to everyone, okay?" he says, angry that Brendon would think he's been ignoring them.

"Please," Brendon huffs, loudly through the phone. Spencer holds it away from his ear for a second, frowning. "You call, sure, dude, and I know you go to Ryan's shows, but you don't hang around afterward. And yeah, you send me those long fucking emails where you dissect everything that's wrong with the tracks I put up on MySpace, but you don't ever offer to come over and _help_."

Spencer would hang up on him, but Brendon's right. "Fine," he says tightly. "I'll come over and help."

"That's not what I meant," Brendon says, and yeah, Spencer knows that's not what he meant.

*

"I guess I thought I wanted to be alone," he tells Brendon the next day, setting up the small kit he's brought with in Brendon's basement.

"I think I want crotales on this, too," Brendon replies, pushing his glasses up his nose. "There's a set over there."

 _Okay, I guess we're not talking about it anymore_ , Spencer says to himself, and sets up the crotales. He runs a mallet over them briefly, reminding himself of the sound. There's a dissonant interval that catches his ear and he grabs the other mallet to experiment. It's five minutes before he realizes Brendon is standing there, staring at him, and that Brendon's been recording the whole time. "Dude, sorry."

Brendon shakes his head and sits down at the piano. "No. Don't be. Let's play."

*

It turns out pretty cool, whatever it is, and Brendon's practically buzzing with enthusiasm as he emails the file to Ryan. Spencer fiddles with his drumsticks (it had been too long, they feel almost strange in his hands) until Brendon's phone rings. "Ross!" Brendon says happily. "Dude, I'm putting you on speakerphone."

"You guys are weird," is what Ryan says when Brendon pushes the button for speaker. "But it's cool. How the hell did you convince Spencer to come over?"

"I made him feel guilty," Brendon says smugly, just as Spencer says, "You know, I'm still here, you don't have to talk about me like I've left."

Ryan snorts. "You're the one that's been avoiding us, of course I'm going to think you've left already," he says. Spencer feels another hot flash of guilt.

Brendon pats his arm. "Call Jon, okay?" he suggests, and Spencer groans and buries his face in his hands.

 

**in order: four**

 

Jon actually calls him, and Spencer might or might not fumble with the phone when Jon's name flashes on the display. "Hey, dude, how's your mom?" Jon asks. "I miss her."

"Shut up."

"You say that, but I know you're smiling inside," Jon continues, and Spencer sighs, because he kind of is. "See? And you know what?"

"What?" Spencer asks grudgingly.

"I haven't forgotten you."

 _Shut up_ , Spencer wants to say again, because his stomach doing a weird flip inside his body. _Shut up, just shut up, because you don't know_ , and then his train of thought is derailed by Jon continuing to talk. "So, Brendon sent me his MySpace link, and that instrumental thing you guys did together is _awesome_ , Spence. Like, I don't know, streets wet from rain shining in blue headlights and a year's worth of the world's best coffee and, uhm, Ansel Adams all rolled into one."

"Wow," is all Spencer can manage.

"I'm putting together this gallery thing and I want you guys to do some music for it," Jon says. "I already asked Brendon and he's cool, so you were next on my list of people to sweet-talk into coming to Chicago and putting some stuff on tape."

So _that_ was why he called. Not just to chat, but to talk about _work_ \- "Wait, what?" Spencer asks. "Chicago?"

"Yeah. And you can't say no, because I just paid for a fucking plane ticket for you. I'll see you on Saturday night, okay? I'll pick you guys up!" And then he hangs up, leaving Spencer to stare at the phone and will his heart back to a more normal speed.

It takes a while.

 

**five (in an entirely different part of the country)**

 

Jon hugs him at the airport, and hugs Brendon too, a wall of warmth in the cold. It's _snowing_. Spencer would glare at the sky, he really would, if he wasn't so pleased to be where Jon was. "This is gonna be epic, you guys," Jon is saying, throwing their bags into the trunk of his car. (The instruments he loads more carefully.)

"Shotgun!" Brendon yells, and races for the passenger side door. And Spencer would glare at him, too, except Brendon slips on some ice and Spencer and Jon are forced to catch him.

"That's what you get for being an idiot," Spencer says firmly, and gets into the back seat. And since he's got it all to himself, he can stretch out, and take it all in. Brendon is asking questions about the "gallery thing", waving his hands around, throwing out ideas as Jon explains the pictures. Spencer settles back and listens, a little sleepy since Brendon had kept him awake on the plane, and alternates between looking out the window and looking at Jon.

Jon catches his eye every so often and grins. Spencer grins back. And each time he does, the spring that's waiting, tightly coiled in his chest, well. Maybe it loosens. Just a little.

*

Jon's loft has one cat that Spencer has already met and knows is Dylan, and that's it. "Uhm, where's Cassie?" he asks, because he can't _not_ ask.

"She's been gone for a while," Jon replies quietly, scooping up Dylan and rubbing his head, and there's a sadness in the movement that Spencer can't bear to witness.

"I'm sorry." It's awkward, so Spencer busies himself with carrying instruments up from the car and getting then organized in what Jon has waved a hand at and called a "practice space". All he's brought are both sets of crotales, a prepared snare, and the bass drum. It's less than he's ever really played with before, not counting the drum lessons where all he was allowed was a snare for the exercises. He sets the bag of sticks and brushes and mallets down next to the stool Jon has shoved over for him. Then he looks up, around the apartment, and sees what Brendon is standing in the middle of the floor staring at.

There are folding chairs everywhere, and on each one is a large square photograph, probably thirty-six by thirty-six, mounted on... something. Spencer doesn't pretend to know much about art, even if it is Jon's art. "It's just that foam-board stuff," Jon says, close to his ear, and no, Spencer doesn't jump.

"They're _awesome_ ," he breathes. "Christ, is that-"

"Yes, Ryan Ross." 

Spencer walks closer to the picture. Jon trails behind him. It's Ryan, for sure, but only someone who'd seen him half-naked in a dressing room and running around in only boxer shorts on a tour bus for months on end would know. His face isn't visible, just his shoulder and arm and part of his chest from a weird angle. Spencer tilts his head and figures out that in the picture, Ryan must have been putting on his makeup for a show, because the stick of eyeliner and the little pots of color are what's actually in focus. Jon has done something so that the colors are bright and screaming, and there's a splotch of light in one corner. _The mirror_ , Spencer thinks.

"Jon, this is fantastic," he says.

Jon shrugs. "You've been looking at my pictures for years, Spence."

"But never like this. Never..." He pauses, searching for what he wants to say. "Never all ready for _other_ people to see them."

Jon smiles and it lights up his eyes, so Spencer figures he's said something right. Then Brendon bangs on the piano. "Dudes, let's figure this shit out," he says, his fingers skimming over the keys without pressing down.

"Wait," Jon tells him, "Spencer's not done looking at the pictures. Besides, aren't you hungry?"

Spencer chuckles. If there's one thing that could possibly distract Brendon from music, it's food. "How about you guys go grab something while I finish checking these out," he suggests, and Jon and Brendon nod and make agreeable noises, and then Spencer's alone in the loft.

*

He walks from picture to picture, lingering at each.

There's an upside-down shot of some buildings that must be famous here; Spencer's pretty sure he's seen it on the cover of some album Jon was madly in love with for a while. There, it had been manipulated into something that barely resembled a photograph. Here, it's like the sky and the sun are pouring out of the tops of them, pooling into blue and pink and shocking orange.

There's a black-and-white shot of an overturned folding chair, the paint flaking off it. In the fuzzy background, Spencer can make out someone standing. He looks closer. The shoes are a pair that Brendon used to own, some ugly tennis shoes that he only wore to and from the venues, refusing to let Spencer throw them away, saying he never knew what he might step in going from the bus to the back door of whatever place they were that night.

There's the obligatory Midwestern artist shot of Lake Michigan, except it's sideways, and the contrast has been tweaked so high that the rocks are just white outlines. Far out on the lake, there's what Spencer is pretty sure is a buoy, and it's a splotch of bright color amid all the same blue-ness of the water.

Three nature shots, all in a row. They seem to match. Small green things growing up out of melting snow.

Tom, lifting William into the air on-stage, William's hair a floaty cloud around his scrunched-up face. Spencer lingers at this one a moment, because it is obvious to him that this picture is from at least six years ago, yet it's still here. Obviously Jon saw something in it, to want it in this show. Tom's grinning, his face pure and open. Blurry hands are waving from the bottom of the picture, an audience long since dispersed.

He moves to the next.

*

He's still standing in front of the last one when the door opens and Jon and Brendon spill back into the room, bring with them a cool draft and the scent of Thai food. "Spence?" he hears Brendon ask. Spencer waves a hand over his shoulder, his eyes still locked on the picture. There's footsteps behind him, and then Jon's hand is on his shoulder.

"Is it okay?" Jon asks. "That I use this one?"

In the picture, Spencer's laughing. Helpless, can't-stop, ache-in-your-ribs-afterwards laughing. His hair is a mess, his head thrown back. The hands on his waist, tickling, are Brendon's. Spencer remembers that day on the bus. He'd been so tired he couldn't see straight but yet he couldn't sleep, and while usually he managed to avoid Brendon's tickle rampages, he had not been quick enough that night and Brendon had caught him. Jon had been standing there, his camera in one hand, about to take a picture of the yawns Spencer couldn't contain, when Brendon had pounced. He wonders what that would have looked like, if Jon had been able to take the picture he'd intended to take.

Instead, he'd gotten this.

"Yeah," Spencer breathes. "Yeah."

"Guys, food!" Brendon calls. "Before it gets cold!"

 

**six (still chicago)**

 

"Answer me something," Jon murmurs, as they slump on the couch, watching the _Twilight Zone_ marathon.

Spencer yawns. "What?"

"Why'd you ignore us all for so long?"

What Spencer wants to say is this: _I didn't see them because they reminded me of you, and I didn't see you because I'm kind of in love with you; the kind of thing where my heart skips a beat when you look at me and sometimes I feel like I'm going to be sick, and I still lay awake at night imagining what your hands would feel like touching me._ But he doesn't. Instead, he mumbles something about needing to be alone, needing to be just Spencer for a while and not think about the band or music or the way it all fell apart at the end.

Jon's hand cups his neck. "Okay, that I kind of get," he says, his thumb rubbing under Spencer's ear, and Spencer kind of can't breathe.

"Stop," he whispers, before he can hold it in.

"Stop what?" Jon asks, and the look on his face is so fucking innocent that Spencer continues to not be able to breathe. It's hard to say _stop touching me_ when you can't breathe. He forces himself to take a deep breath.

"Maybe don't stop," he says finally, and lets his head fall onto Jon's shoulder. _I am resolutely refusing to explain_ , he thinks. Jon doesn't ask again, just looks back at the television, and his fingers continue their slow exploration of Spencer's neck. _Dear self: you might want to tell him one of these years,_ Spencer thinks, but instead, he closes his eyes and falls asleep.

*

There's almost no time for Spencer to feel awkward the next morning, since he wakes up to Brendon playing the piano, and kind of rolls right off the couch and to his kit. There's a cup of coffee waiting on the little table that Jon has obviously set up for him, and he downs the whole cup and picks up his sticks. "Okay, I'm good," he says, shaking out his arms. "Lemme warm up for a sec before we really get going."

Five minutes later, the caffeine is rushing through his system and Brendon is slowly picking out an intricate melody as Spencer concentrates hard, following along on the crotales. "You want me to write it out?" Brendon asks, reaching for his glasses and the pad of staff paper.

"No, I think I've got it." He plays through it again. "Wait, where's Jon?"

"At work. You know, the portrait studio?"

Spencer had almost forgotten about Jon having a real job. "Oh, right."

"If we put our minds to it, we can have something worked out by the time he gets home," Brendon says earnestly, smiling back at him. "Also, you might want to tell him one of these days."

He fumbles the crotale mallets. "Uhm, what, Brendon?"

"You might want," Brendon says slowly, as though he's talking to a five-year-old (and this would be hilarious if Brendon wasn't talking about what Spencer was afraid he was talking about), "to tell Jon how you feel about him. We're not kids anymore, Spence; we're not on tour, we're not signed to any record company, you're not going to break up the band if you come out."

"I'm not gay," Spencer grumbles, all while thinking to himself that _that_ was probably the most adult thing ever to come out of Brendon's mouth.

"Sure," Brendon says easily, and turns back to the piano. "Regardless of whatever label you do or do not want to give yourself, I'm still thinking you should tell Jon. Because I think he might want to tell you the same thing."

This time, he drops the mallets for real. Brendon smirks. "Shut up," Spencer mutters, and throws the nearest available drumstick at Brendon's head.

 

**seven (revelations)**

 

Spencer's in his sleeping bag on the floor, almost asleep, when someone lays down next to him. "Everybody's been a-talkin," Jon sings his ear, barely more than a whisper, "they say our love wasn't real; that it would soon be over, that's not the way I feel-" Spencer's holding his breath now, still not a hundred percent awake, "but I don't worry, honey, let them say what they may; come on and stick with me, baby, we'll find a way-" and then Jon's mouth is pressed against his temple, then his cheek, then the corner of his mouth. He doesn't move from there, just lingers.

It's Spencer who, once he figures out that Jon is not moving away, turns his head and catches Jon's lips with his. Jon tastes like espresso and whipped cream and when Jon groans into the kiss, Spencer trembles just a little. Then he sits up, breaking the kiss. "Is this Brendon's idea of a dare?" he asks.

Job blinks at him in the low light, looking confused and _hurt_ , and oh god, all Spencer wants is to take back what he said and make the look on Jon's face disappear. He swallows hard. "Sorry," Spencer whispers. "Sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't-"

"I fucking _serenade_ you, and you ask if it's Brendon's idea of a _dare_?" Jon growls, sitting up as well.

Spencer covers his face with his hand. He's ruined something they haven't even started. Jon starts to get up. "Wait, don't go," Spencer pleads, and wraps his hand around Jon's wrist. "You should know after all this time. I'm in love with you."

Jon stops moving. "What do you mean, after all this time?" he asks, and his voice is so very careful that it makes Spencer's head hurt. He closes his eyes tightly, unable to look at the tense lines of Jon's back.

"I've been in love with you since August 14th, 2009," he murmurs. "Chicago. We played here, played the Vic. You were so fucking excited about being home, doing a show at home, and all your friends were there, and there was this awesome light in your eyes, Jon, and I had to go throw up in the fucking bathroom because I was suddenly terrified that you'd remember how much you loved Chicago and not want to leave with us again, and I didn't want you to stay. I wanted you to be with us. With _me_."

It all comes out in a rush, and _fierce_ , and Spencer's heart is pounding triple-time. Jon has turned around again and is staring at him, his jaw slack, his eyes wide. "Say something," Spencer whispers. "Jesus, before I feel any fucking sicker about all of this, say something."

Then Jon's hands are on his shoulders and he's kind of shaking him, a little. "Why didn't you tell me all this before, you jerk?" Jon breathes. " _Fuck._ Come here." And he pulls Spencer, sleeping bag and all, flush against him. "Now listen," Jon says, right in his ear, and Spencer is so turned on that he's going to come in about three seconds if Jon holds him any closer, "listen, Spence, jesus, _fuck_. Try December 31st, 2008. New York City."

"The New Year's Eve party?" Spencer asks, blinking. "When you saved me from those girls?"

"They were going to take all of your clothes off and you were so drunk you were going to let them," Jon laughs against his neck. "Now, while every guy deserves a threesome of that sort, they don't deserve their naked picture all over the internet, which is totally what those girls were going to do."

"Unless you're Pete," Spencer interjects, and Jon laughs more. Spencer feels like his heart is a balloon that's rising, rising, rising. "Wait, so, you were telling me when you fell in love with me."

"Yes. I scared the girls away-"

"You're not scary, Jon Walker-"

"-shut up, I can be scary. And then I hauled your ass upstairs to our hotel room." This is where everything had gone fuzzy for Spencer. He'd remembered the girls being there, and then the girls being gone, and then waking up the next morning feeling like he was going to die and swearing never to drink that much again. "And I got you into the bed and then just sat there, staring at you. And I thought to myself that I would do anything to protect you, Spencer, and if that's not love, I don't-"

Spencer cuts him off with a kiss.

 

**eight**

 

"I told you," Brendon says the next morning, leaning over them and prodding Jon with his bare foot. 

"Don't touch me with your bare feet, Urie, that's gross," Jon replies, shoving at his legs until Brendon sits down on the couch.

"I told you," he says again, nodding firmly, and Spencer snuggles closer to Jon in the sleeping bag and does his best to ignore Brendon's lengthy lecture about how everyone always knew anyway.

 

 **nine**

 

The show is on a Friday night, and Spencer goes in hours before the opening to help Jon set up. There's lots of pillars and strangely angled walls to hang things on, and he ends up handing pictures up to Jon, who's standing on a ladder with a roll of some weird foam tape and a pair of scissors. "Isn't there some better way to hang these?" Spencer asks.

"This is actually the best, for what these are," Jon replies, and Spencer shrugs. Jon knows a million times more about this than he does. "Okay, pass it up!" Jon says, and Spencer hands over the sideways Lake Michigan picture. Jon sticks it to the wall, his lower lip between his teeth in concentration, and then jumps down off the ladder to slide an arm around Spencer's waist. "Well?"

"Looks good to me."

"No touching!" Brendon hollers from the sound system, where he's hooking up his iPod. Spencer rolls his eyes. "Seriously, I don't want to see it!"

"Shut up," Jon tells him, and backs Spencer around one of the many corners, out of Brendon's line of sight. "So, uhm, tonight," he says.

"Tonight's the night," Spencer replies, much calmer than he actually feels, and kisses him. 

"I can't believe you made me wait to have sex," Jon continues. Spencer grins at him. "A whole week."

"It has not been a whole week. Besides, what's a week when we've already been waiting _years_."

"True." Jon nods solemnly. Then he taps his fingers against Spencer's cheek. "There's more pictures to hang up, come on."

*

 _what if it's terrible?_ he texts to Ryan.

 _ew, shut up_ , is Ryan's reply. _you love him, he loves you, shut up_ Then: _don't want to hear about this anymore, k?_

*

Jon sells almost all of his pictures, and mostly to people who are not his friends, and he looks both happy and freaked out when Spencer finds him as people are leaving the gallery. "I made enough money for this place that they asked me to do it again in a few months," Jon murmurs in his ear. 

"That's awesome." Spencer looks around the room. "The bus picture is still here," he says, and there's a part of him that's glad, and there's a part of him that wishes someone had bought it, just so that more of Jon's art would be out there in the world. 

"Someone wanted to buy it, actually," Jon replies, his mouth still close to Spencer's ear. "I turned them down. I'm keeping it." The _and I'm keeping you_ is unspoken, but Spencer hears it anyway, and Jon smiles at him so brilliantly that Spencer has to move just a little bit closer. 

 

 **ten - from here on out**

_Once upon a time_ , Spencer thinks to himself, as he unbuttons Jon's shirt, _we were kind of famous. And now we're just... random people_. He doesn't think about how if the band had never made it out of his garage, he never would have met Jon. Instead, he pushes the shirt off Jon's shoulders, undoes the buttons at the cuffs so that he can get it all the way off of Jon and slide his hands over Jon's chest. 

"You're thinking again," Jon murmurs, "and that really needs to stop."

Spencer smiles and fits his mouth against Jon's, stopping them both from thinking. Jon slips his hands into the back pockets of Spencer's jeans and they stay that way, kissing leisurely, until Jon flips them off their knees so that Spencer is flat on his back on the bed. Jon slides down his body, unbuttons and unzips, and tugs the jeans down Spencer's legs. "You used to wear boxers," he says, looking a bit shocked. 

"Don't tell me you're complaining."

"Fuck, no," Jon laughs, his breath warm against Spencer's thigh. Then he wraps his hand around Spencer's cock and Spencer groans at the touch. "What do you want to do?" Jon asks.

"What you're doing is good," Spencer breathes. Jon strokes slowly, rubbing his thumb over the head. Spencer lifts himself up on his elbows to watch, because this is the first time Jon's touching him like this and he has to see it. Has to know that it's _real_. 

*

"Do you ever feel like we're a hell of a lot older than we really are?" he whispers to Jon, as he holds Jon's wrists in his hands, pressing him into the bed. 

"All the time," Jon pants, and does something with his hips so that their cocks line up. Spencer's hips slide forward before he can even think about rocking against Jon, who moves his legs a little wider, giving Spencer room to lay between his thighs. "Good?"

"Fuck, yeah. Stop talking."

"You started it." But Jon kisses up his neck to his mouth, his beard scratching, licks Spencer's lips, flicks against his teeth, sucks on his tongue. Hard. Spencer groans, works his hips faster, then decides on a better course of action and removes one of his hands from around Jon's wrist, licks his palm, and slides it between their bodies to jerk them both off. Jon gasps. Spencer lifts himself up just a little bit to look. He has to see this, too. And see Jon's face, so close to his own, flushed and damp, his hair stuck to his forehead. 

"Thank god for all your back muscles," Jon groans, and Spencer grins, even if it is getting a little strenuous to hold himself up like this. "You're working too hard," Jon breathes harshly in his ear, "let go and just rub against me, Spence, it's all good," and Spencer does. Licks Jon's neck and grinds down against him, and Jon presses up, his legs sliding against Spencer's. "Faster," Jon demands, and Spencer complies, sucking at Jon's collarbone. There's little flashes starting to go off behind his eyes. Jon's clutching at his back, wrapping himself around Spencer as much as he can, increasing the friction. 

"Oh god," Spencer gasps, his toes curling so hard it hurts, the orgasm building from the soles of his feet. He pushes against Jon, whimpering, biting his shoulder, licking, tasting. "Please," he groans, and Jon's fingers dig into his hips, Jon's hips snapping up into his and Spencer thinks briefly that the lack of rhythm should bother him more than it does, but _fuck_ , he just doesn't care about anything that's not Jon pressed against him, and then everything explodes black and white and bright in his head. 

*

"Shower," Jon is saying. "Spencer. Shower. Come on."

Spencer doesn't think he can move, but he really doesn't have to do much work, Jon is kind of nudging him out of the bed and pulling him into the bathroom, he's just going with the flow. In the shower, he leans against the wall and focuses his gaze on Jon. "I didn't, like, elbow you in the face or anything last night when I came, did I?" he asks sheepishly.

Jon stops lathering soap between his palms and grins at him. "No, you dork," he laughs. "Did I?"

"I don't really remember," Spencer confesses, and they both laugh. Then Jon pulls him close and somehow they get the soap everywhere it needs to go in between kisses. "Wait, who's taking Brendon to the airport?" he asks.

Jon blinks. "Airport?"

"Yeah, his flight leaves at three." Spencer ducks his head under the spray. 

"What about you?"

"I'll have to go back for stuff eventually, I guess," he replies. Jon's eyes go wide. "What?" Spencer asks. "Did you not want me to stay?"

"Of course I fucking want you to stay," Jon says, still looking a little bewildered.

Spencer stares at him. "Did you really think I was going to leave you, Jon Walker, after I made you wait a week to sleep with me?"

"Uhm, years," Jon corrects, but he's grinning, and Spencer is totally game for being swept into a wet soapy embrace. "Hey," Jon whispers, biting gently at his earlobe. "Remind me how this ends, Spence."

"Way better than we ever thought it would," Spencer answers immediately and hugs Jon tighter, and then they're laughing, fumbling to turn off the shower and find towels as Brendon bangs on the bathroom door shouting about how they better hurry the fuck up.


End file.
